Piece of Something
by Swords N' Daisies
Summary: Logan Fraye has issues. Between hunting, dealing with her abusive dad, and taking car of her little sister, the fifteen-year-old is in over her head. Then Dean Winchester shows up and things get even more complicated as bruises are noticed and the big questions start being asked.
1. Concealer

**Hey everyone! I have a couple of things to point out about this story.**

 **1\. Please note that any italics in the story are either thoughts or flashbacks. Usually flashbacks will be separated from the rest of the text with a horizontal page break. Thoughts will not be separate.**

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 **Alright... I think that's it. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing that registers when I wake up is that someone is shaking me. I snatch my gun from beneath my pillow in one fluid motion and point it at whoever is touching my arm. Wide blue eyes meet my own, startled and a bit scared. I drop the gun.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, honey. C'mere." I say, and my little sister unfreezes and crawls into bed next to me. She settles her head against my chest and her red hair tickles my nose.

"Are you still hurt?" She asks. The words are muffled and sleepy, but they still make me stiffen. I reach up and gently smooth my hand over her hair, hugging her closer to me.

"Nah, Em. I'm good. Big sisters are immortal, remember?"

"You were bleeding."

"You should've seen the other guy…" I say, closing my eyes.

"I don't get it, Logan."

"That's alright, Emily. Just go to sleep."

"'Kay."

Within minutes, I hear her breathing even out and I shift away from her. The morning air nips at my bare legs as I silently stand and began to get ready for the day, showering quickly under a weak dribble of barely warm water and getting dressed. Emily is still asleep when I come back into the room, so I pack her things into the little purple suitcase that she begged me to get for her a couple months back. It wasn't cheap, but with the help of half of our grocery money, I'd been able to buy it. I didn't eat for a few days after that, but the look of pure happiness on her face had made my aching stomach worth it.

After her bag is packed, I shove my few belongings into my stained duffel bag and gently shake my sister awake.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Dad will be mad if he sees that you're not up yet."

"It's cold though." I frown and throw a glance at the broken window above the bed, silently cursing it.

"You can have my coat until you warm up." I say, shrugging off the warm fleece-lined jacket, which is probably the nicest piece of clothing that I own. I wrap the garment around Emily's shoulders and swoop her up in my arms, swinging her around the room and tickling her until she's laughing and giggling so hard that her face turns red. Then I set her down and shoo her off to take a shower. She scampers away to the bathroom, leaving me standing in my room wearing nothing but jeans and a tee-shirt. I shiver.

Dad will be mad if he sees that you're not up yet.

* * *

" _Why the fuck are you still in bed, Logan? It's six o'clock! Get the fuck up, you lazy piece of shit! God, you're so fucking worthless, Logan. I must have fucked up raising you." My dad yells, grabbing my shirt and dragging me off of the bed. I don't make a sound as his boot connects with my ribs._

" _Worthless. Fucking. Piece. Of. Shit. Sorry. Excuse. For. A. Hunter." Each word is accentuated with a kick, and soon I'm lost in the pain, my head swimming and my vision fading in and out. I hardly notice when the blows stop landing, barely register the sound of heavy footsteps disappearing out the front door and down the steps. I feel little hands on my face._

" _Hey, Em." I say. My voice sounds like shit._

" _You're bleeding, Logan."_

* * *

"Logan?" Emily asks quietly. I shake myself out of my memories and focus on the little girl in front of me. Her hair is wet and she's wrapped up in my coat again.

"Yes, love?"

"Dad's awake."

I draw a deep breath and plaster on my most convincing smile.

"Alright. I'm gonna go make him some coffee. Why don't you stay up here and get dressed? Make sure you wear something warm."

"Can I keep your jacket?"

"Sure, Emily."

She goes over to her suitcase and starts digging through it. I linger for a moment, watching to make sure she doesn't pull out a dress or something else that's not at all warm, and then turn and make my way towards the kitchen.

My dad is standing at the sink, head tilted back as he drinks from a bottle of Jack. My heart falls.

"Good morning, sir." I make sure my voice is steady and loud enough for him to hear clearly, but not too loud. He grunts in reply and slams the bottle onto the counter top. I flinch involuntarily as he turns to face me.

"You forgot to salt the attic window last night."

I lower my eyes. Last night was a mess. After being beaten for yet another thing that I managed to screw up, I had stumbled around doing everything within my power to not pass out as I tried to remember the location of all the windows in the house.

"We could've been killed. Emily could have been slaughtered in her bed, and it would have been your fault, Logan. You're such a fuck up. You can't even keep your sister safe."

I look at my shoes. The words sting.

 _Emily could've been killed. You could've gotten her killed. You're worthless. Emily deserves better. You have nothing to offer her but a stupid purple suitcase that cost twenty five bucks and an oversized jacket from a thrift store somewhere in North Carolina._

My dad steps closer to me, and I resist the urge to back away.

"Lucky for you, I don't have time to punish your sorry ass right now. We're supposed to leave in an hour. Make me some coffee and cook Emily some breakfast. And do something about your face. It's all fucked up from last night."

"Yes sir." I say, and duck out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. A quick glance in the mirror tells me that my dad wasn't lying about my face being fucked up. I'm sporting a huge bruise on my cheek and a cut just above my right eyebrow. I pull out the foundation makeup that I keep in my toiletry bag and begin to dab it generously onto my face. It's going to be a long day.


	2. Sioux Falls

**Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed! I love hearing from you guys and the encouragement really helps. To the guest user who asked why Logan is named Logan- I just really like that name haha...  
**

 **Hope y'all enjoy Chapter Two.  
**

* * *

I've never lived in one place for long. We hop around a lot, staying in abandoned houses or cheap motels. If we're lucky, some other hunter will lend us their cabin for a while. But it's all temporary.

This time is no different. In a few hours, we'll be well on our way to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I tote our bags of clothes and weapons from the house, setting them gently on the bed of the truck. Once everything is loaded, I go around to the back of the house for my bike. The Harley was my mother's at one point. My dad couldn't bear to sell it, so it sat in a storage facility gathering dust until he was seized by a sudden good mood and decided to give it to me for my thirteenth birthday. At the time, it was way too big for me, but I worked on customizing it until I finally could ride it. To this day, it remains my most prized possession.

It's a beautiful machine. The deep red paint is glossy and clean, and all of the chrome gleams. The black leather seat is supple and worn, but well taken care of. Resting on the handlebars are two helmets, a simple black one for me and a pink one, (complete with butterfly stickers), for Emily.

After the bike is loaded and tied down on the back of the truck, I go inside to let my dad know that everything is ready to go. I find him sitting on the couch reading one of my Hot Rod magazines.

"The truck is loaded, sir." His gaze snaps onto my face.

"It took your lazy ass long enough." He growls, and pushes himself up. Emily appears by my side.

"I'm gonna go get in the car." She says, looking up at me with blue eyes. I nod and smile at her.

"You do that, love. We'll be outside in a minute."

"'Kay." She disappears down the hall and I take a moment before turning back to my dad.

"I'm sorry I took so long to load everything up. I'll try to be faster next time." I don't let any hint of sarcasm slip into my voice. I know that that never ends well.

My dad studies me closely for a moment before scowling and storming past me.

"Piece of shit." He hisses as he goes. I turn and follow him.

* * *

The drive is long and awkward. After a while, Emily falls asleep with her head resting on a pillow in my lap. I stroke her hair slowly with my thumb and stare out the window, taking in the view. Fields, fields, trees, dirt, cows, trees, trees, trees, sign announcing that Sioux Falls is 120 miles away. I allow my eyes to slip shut and I begin to drift off despite the seat-belt rubbing my neck and the door handle digging into my back.

"Logan." I jump as I hear my dad say my name, instantly straightening. Emily lets out a hushed sigh as she is jostled, but settles after a moment. I look at my dad.

"Yes, sir?"

"Turn on the radio."

I reach forward, skipping stations until I find one playing classic rock. The first song to come on is Whiskey Man, by The Who.

Whiskey Man's my friend,

he's with me nearly all the time

He always joins me when I drink,

and we get on just fine

My dad turns off the radio.

Upon entering Sioux falls, I take note of any places that might possibly hire a sketchy-looking sixteen year old girl. There's not much, but I spot a small and slightly run down auto shop on the edge of town. Singer's Auto looks like just the kind of place for me to find a job to pay for whiskey for dad and enough food to sustain us.

Eventually, we pull into the driveway of a small cabin surrounded by forest. The yard is shabby and full of weeds, but I don't care. It's bigger than the last house and might even have a heater that's not broken beyond repair. As the truck rolls to a stop, Emily stirs and sits up slowly, pawing at her eyes.

"Are we here?" She asks sleepily.

"We sure are, princess."

"Will you go exploring with me?"

I glance at my dad, who is getting out of the truck. He doesn't make a comment, so I nod to my little sister.

"Sure. Just give me a little while to unload our stuff."

"Can I help?"

"If you want, I'll even let you help me out with my bike."

"His name is Bob Seger, Logan!" She protests with an exasperated sigh.

I laugh. Emily dubbed the bike 'Bob Seger' after I showed her Old Time Rock & Roll. I don't know why she decided on that name, and she refuses to fully explain it, so I've pretty much accepted it and moved on.

"Okay, okay. You can help me unload Bob Seger." I grin and tickle her until she runs off into the house after my dad squealing and giggling. After grabbing a few bags, I follow her. I open the door and step under the door frame, looking around to see a cozy living room that looks like it was decorated by an eighty year old lady. The curtains are floral. So is the couch. There are pictures of flowers framed on the wall. And there's a china cabinet. Filled with (floral) teacups and plates. I chuckle lightly and wander down the nearest hallway until I find an unoccupied bedroom.

It's tiny, but comfortable and relatively clean. The walls are painted grayish-blue and there are no pictures of flowers hanging on them. The wood floor is mostly covered by a thick persian rug. There's a small closet with shuttered wooden doors. The bed is pushed into the back corner of the room, made up with quilts and down comforters nicer than anything I've had in awhile. A framed AC/DC poster occupies the space above the bed, which makes me smile. Apparently the old lady who furnished the rest of the house didn't get her hands on this room. There's a desk squeezed in next to the bed. It has a lamp sitting on it and a window above it, letting in the afternoon rays of sun. I just stand there for a moment, taking in the room. It's easily the nicest one that I can remember staying in, a massive step up from the crappy motel rooms and abandoned houses that I'm used to. It's perfect.

I take my time unpacking my few belongings. Six worn out tee-shirts, three pairs of ripped and stained jeans, four flannels, a few pairs of socks and underwear, a nice bra and a sports bra, a pair of stained sweat pants, my toiletries bag, and a picture of six-year-old me holding baby Emily and standing next to my mom. Next come weapons. From my duffel, I produce a sawed off, a huge and lethal-looking hunting knife, and two smaller knives. I tuck them all into my closet and shove the handgun at my belt under the pillow on the bed. By the time everything is put away, it's getting dark outside.

* * *

Somewhere around 8:30, my dad throws open the door to my room and informs me that we will be leaving to go out to dinner in five minutes. I make sure that my jeans don't have any monster goop or blood stains on them and run a brush through my hair in an attempt to make it less unruly. Then I make sure all of the lights in the house are turned off before heading outside and swinging myself into the truck, where Emily and my dad are waiting.

Soon we're off, heading into town. We stop at the first restaurant that we see, a small diner with a neon sign advertising "Fran's Famous Pies". As we walk inside, I take note of the diner's customers. There aren't many of them, at least not at this hour. An elderly couple sits together at a table in the corner, making quiet conversation and sharing a piece of pie. A man sits by himself at the bar. And last but not least, the third and most interesting party, which is made up of a middle-aged man, a little kid, and a boy who looks about my age.

The man looks gruff, with a worn-out baseball cap on his head and a scraggly beard. The little kid looks around ten or eleven. He had a mop of shaggy brown hair and is currently in the middle of a very intense game of tic-tac-toe with the other boy.

The other boy.

He has dark blond hair sticking up in messy spikes, a wrist wrapped in a cast, and a blue flannel. His head whips towards me as I walk by on the other side of the room, and even from here I can see his eyes- sharp, calculating, intelligent, and green. I shift my gaze away from him and seat myself next to Emily and across from my dad. The waitress comes to take our order and I wince internally as my dad orders a beer. I know it will be the first of many. It always is. Emily gets spaghetti. I get a burger. And then all thoughts about food or beer vanish as I glance up and meet the green-eyed boy's stare. I raise my eyebrows and he grins at me.

"Who are you looking at?" My dad growls. I quickly turn back to face him.

"Just some other kid."

"Well stop starin' at him and pay attention. I've got news. We're gonna be stayin' here for a while. There aren't many hunts around right now and we can use the cabin for at least the next couple of months."

Months? Damn. That is a while.

"You girls will start school in a few days."

Great. School. Classes filled with boring and easy curriculum and hallways filled with stupid and oblivious people. Sounds like loads of fun-

"Logan, you'd better respond when I'm talking to you!" His eyes narrow as his voice rises. I quickly look down.

"Sorry, sir. I understand, sir."

My dad grunts in response, and our food is served. My dad is distracted by his beer so I take a moment to look across the restaurant once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of green-

"Logan," I hear my dad hiss. "Stop looking at that kid and eat your fucking dinner."

"Please don't cuss in front of Emily," I say without thinking. My dad stiffens and I see anger flash in his eyes as our gazes meet.

"Outside. Now." His voice is quiet and full of the calculated rage that I am all too familiar with. Still, I can't bring myself to regret what I said.

"Yes sir." I stand up tall as I walk outside to receive the beating that I know is inevitable. I don't look at the green eyed boy.

* * *

I wait in the parking lot as Emily and my dad finish eating. My head pounds and my body is on fire where my dad's steel-toed boots connected with it. I shiver in the chilly October air, leaning up against the truck and trying to draw slow breaths so I don't jostle my ribs. I hear the bell on the door of the restaurant jingle, and the green-eyed boy emerges with the other kid and the older man. He glances at me as he passes, his eyes lingering on my face. Concern flits across his features, and I frown. I don't need concern. I can take care of myself.

He almost looks as if he's going to stop and talk to me, but then my dad and Emily are coming out of the diner and in a flurry of creaking doors and rumbling engines, I'm seated in the passenger seat of my dad's truck and we're pulling out of the parking lot.

* * *

 **Hey guys...**

Okay so this chapter was pretty much just laying out and describing the setting and going into a little more depth with characters. I know it probably wasn't overly exciting... Sorry!  
Also, I am currently on October break so I will hopefully have more time to write, and I plan on getting chapter three of this story up within the next week. Dean will become a more prominent figure in Logan's life and high school will be just as boring and tedious as it is in real life.

 **If anyone has questions or comments for me, feel free to leave them in a review, and please don't forget to follow! Thanks everyone.**

 **-Emma**


	3. Job Interview Attire

When I wake up at six, my dad's truck is gone. I heard him leave somewhere around three. It doesn't alarm me. My dad is very fond of disappearing and reappearing as he pleases. There's never a note, there's never any clue as to where he is. The first time he left, it scared the shit out of me. Now, the sight of an empty driveway offers relief beyond description.

Emily waddles towards the kitchen from my room, where she slept last night. There's hardly ever a night when she doesn't sleep next to me, her little limbs thrown haphazardly across me and her head tucked into my shoulder.

"What's for breakfast?" She asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning widely. I ruffle her hair and do my best to hide the frown that crosses my face. We don't have any food in the house yet, and my dad probably forgot to leave us money again.

"Uh, I'm not quite sure yet, Em. Give me a few minutes and I'll figure something out," I answer. Emily nods and goes back to my room, probably to get back in bed. I don't protest. Dad isn't home, I don't have to worry about him getting angry with her.

He's never hit Emily. I've never let him, and I never will. I've redirected his anger from her to me more than a couple of times, letting comments that I would usually hold back in his presence fall from my lips like rain. I backtalk and sass him until I know that he's no longer after her, and then I take whatever he dishes out.

I'd die before letting him lay a hand on my innocent little sist-

"Logan! Can we go for a ride on Bob Seger today?" Emily's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I smile at her and laugh.

"Sure, honey. I have to go out anyways."

Twenty minutes later, we're on the road, the powerful bike rumbling beneath us. It feels fantastic to have the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I feel… Free. Safe. Confident. Emily is laughing behind me, squealing about how my hair is tickling her face. I chuckle along with her and gun the bike, heading off to explore our new home.

First, we stop at the store. I was able to find two ten dollar bills and a couple of ones and fives crumbled up in the bottom of my duffel bag before we left. It's all that remains from my last job. The money should buy us enough food to last for the next couple of days, giving me enough time to secure a job. If not, there are always other methods of getting food. Though I consider myself to be an honest and (relatively) moral person, I've stolen loaves of bread and containers of peanut butter more times than I'd care to admit.

After I buy food, we head to Dollar Tree and get school supplies. Usually, I don't worry much about being prepared to to spend all day in class. I make sure Emily has a few pencils and a notebook or two tucked into her bag, but that's about it. I don't load myself down with the binders and notebooks that are listed in the syllabuses of my classes. I'm never at one school long enough for it to matter that I don't have the materials, that I don't turn in homework. I'm just the new kid who sits in the back, corrects the teacher's grammar, and makes sarcastic comments for a week or two and then disappears.

This time is different, though. This time, we'll be here for a while. Maybe I'll actually make an effort to turn in my work, instead of just skimming over it to make sure that I grasp the material. Maybe. Maybe, but probably not.

I stare willfully at the last few dollar bills as they leave my hand, knowing that I need to find a job fast. I decide to stop by Singer's Auto today to see if the owner will even consider hiring me. After a few minutes, the school supplies are tucked into my backpack alongside the food and Emily and I are headed towards the outskirts of town.

* * *

I stand in front of the shop's office, my bike behind me and Emily's small hand slipped inside of my own. The air is pleasantly cool, and I'm warm in my flannel and AC/DC shirt. I look down at myself, taking note of the rip in my jeans and the dark stain on the tee. So much for job interview attire.

A quiet bell jingles as I push open the door and I'm greeted by the sight of a small room completely crammed with stuff: tires, tools leaning up against shelves filled with parts, dented hoods stacked against each other. The walls are covered with old hubcaps and posters advertising motor oil or depicting Johnny Cash's face. Somewhere in the room, a small radio is turned on, spilling out Metallica through low-quality speakers. I smile as I take it all in, allowing the feel of it to wash over me. Safe. Comforting and familiar.

And then _he_ has to show up, wiping grease-stained hands on his already dirty tee shirt and tucking a wrench into his back pocket. He looks up and his bright green eyes widen as he sees me. He covers up his surprise quickly and an easy grin falls onto his face as he wipes his hand again and holds it out to me. I take it and shake it firmly, our eyes meeting again.

"You ladies need something fixed?" He asks. His voice is steady, casual, but I see him studying me carefully. I keep my expression neutral.

"No, actually. I was wondering if the owner is hiring."

"You know about cars?" He asks, head tilting a bit.

"You could say that." I reply. He nods and is about to respond when a deep, gruff voice sounds from the back of the office.

"We got a customer, Dean?"

 _Dean. His name is Dean._

"Nah, Bobby. She's here for a job." Dean yells back, and I hear approaching footsteps a moment later. The older man who was with Dean at the diner appears from between the shelves, taking off his cap and running his hands through his thinning hair. He looks at me and recognition sparks in his eyes as he reaches forward and shakes my hand.

"Ah, you're the girl who was at Fran's last night. You new in town?"

"Yes, sir."

"No need for formalities. Call me Bobby."

"Yes, si- Bobby. I was wondering if you're hiring."

Bobby pauses and considers this for a moment.

"Well, our work load does tend tah' get pretty heavy this time of year. I could use an extra set of hands, what with Dean's wrist n' all." He gestures to Dean's casted arm. "You know anything about cars?"

"Yeah. Been fixing ours since I was twelve."

Bobby nods and I catch Dean staring at me.

"Alright, you're hired. Be here right after school tomorrow and Dean'll show ya' the ropes."

I blink. _That's it?_

"She your little sister?" Bobby asks, gesturing to Emily. I grip her hand tighter and nod.

"Yes, sir."

He smiles knowingly.

"She can come and stay here with you, if there ain't gonna be anyone home to watch her."

I let out a breath.

"Thank you, sir. Really, I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of this."

"Don't mention it. What's yer name?"

"Logan. Logan Fraye."

* * *

 **Alright! Hope y'all enjoyed chapter three. Sorry it took so long for me to get it posted...**

 **Any thoughts? Comments? Things you want to see happen? I love to hear from you guys. Seriously.**

 **Thank you for all the followers and reviews so far! I'll try and get chapter 4 up ASAP :)**

 **-Emma**


	4. Almost

I spend the first part of the night staring at my ceiling. Not thinking, just staring. The house is quiet and Emily is asleep next to me, hogging my pillow and producing enough heat to cook a chicken. I sigh and roll out of bed as quietly as I can, making sure the blankets are tucked over Emily's shoulders before grabbing my boots and heading out the door, down the hall, and into the night air. My dad is shit-faced drunk and passed out on the couch, and I know Emily will be safe for a couple of hours while I'm gone. I look back once as I walk across in the driveway, making sure that the windows are still dark, and then I'm starting my bike and taking off.

I have no idea where I'm going. I'm cold, my thin Black Sabbath shirt doing little to shield the wind, and I know that I should probably be sleeping. I have to be at school in a few hours, and I really should conserve gas.

But on the other hand, the stars are out, and I don't have too many fresh bruises, and I can finally breath…. I inhale deeply, as if to prove my own point. My bike hums beneath me and I hardly notice where I'm going until I'm there.

I look up and see a run down theater advertising some band called Killing Onions. I have no idea what the name is supposed to mean, and I chuckle at the absurdity of it. I'm about to leave again when the door to the theater opens and Dean appears with two other boys. His eyes widen when he sees me and I tense. The smile fades from his face and he turns to his friends.

"I'll catch up with you guys. I have something I have to do." The guys shrug and stumble off down the sidewalk, obviously drunk. I watch Dean as he approaches and look him in the eyes as he comes to a stop in front of me.

"Why are you here?" He asks, the question accompanied by that same head tilt from earlier. A strain of muffled guitar notes comes from the theater behind him.

"I got bored and went for a ride. Weird band name." I flick my head towards the theater's sign and Dean chuckles.

"Yeah. They aren't all that great but there isn't anything else to do here at night. They pretty much roll up the sidewalks at seven."

I nod and smile.

"I've lived in plenty of places like this. I get it."

Dean chuckles again, his face partially illuminated by the glowing sign above us. The guitar strikes up again, this time accompanied by the thump of a drum and the muted hum of a voice. The smell of wet pavement and dirt reaches my nose, laced with cigarette smoke and something sweet that I can't identify. For a moment, I feel my walls lowering, feel myself begin to consider trusting Dean. Then everything goes to shit.

"Does he do it often?" The quiet question makes me freeze and the night suddenly feels colder.

"Do what?" My voice is too tight, my reply too fast. I know exactly what he's talking about.

"You know what." Dean's eyes flick up and meet mine, but I hold his gaze. The stifled drumbeat coming from the theater sounds menacing now, fast and aggressive and dangerous.

"I have no idea what you mean." I say calmly, collecting myself. Just in case, I throw him a warning glare.

 _No more questions, Dean. If you know what's good for you, you won't pry..._

"Your dad. He beat you. Last night at the diner. I noticed." He says.

I narrow my eyes.

"I deserved what happened to me," I hiss, turning away. I feel Dean staring holes in my back.

"Logan, I-"

"Just drop it, okay?" I say sharply. Dean doesn't respond for a minute, and I begin to suspect that he isn't gonna just drop it. But with a sigh, he does.

"Alright. Fine. I won't push you. At least not yet."

"Good choice. I have to go." I get on my bike, starting it and looking back at the boy still standing on the sidewalk. I can't read his expression anymore, it's too dark and I'm too far away.

"See you tomorrow." He says.

"Yep. Bye."

And then I take off again, running away from the theater, from the drumbeat, and from Dean.

* * *

In my sixteen years, I've found that things always get worse right when you think they can't. As soon as you find the ghost's grave in the middle of some field on a freezing night in Seattle, it starts to rain. As soon as you end up in the hospital with a fucked up leg, you find out that the room you're in is haunted. As soon as you fall asleep on the filthy bed in some hotel room, you wake up to a rat nibbling tenderly on your ear. As soon as you beat yourself up about pushing away a really attractive boy with green eyes who actually cares, you get home to a house containing a very awake and very pissed off father.

The light is on when I pull into the driveway. I can tell from outside that it's the one in the living room, the one sitting next to the big armchair that my dad fell asleep in.

 _Sonofabitch._

I park my bike and take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for the beating that I know is coming. Each step towards the door fills me with dread. I just hope he doesn't hurt me enough that I can't get to work tomorrow. I open the front door and walk down the hall. As soon as I step foot in the living room, all hell breaks loose.

"Where the fuck were you, you stupid brat?" My dad drawls, swaying drunkenly on his feet.

"I needed some fresh air, sir. I went on a ride." I say, bracing myself as I watch my father's dark eyes narrow. Then his fist connects with my stomach and I cough as air leaves my lungs. One more fist to my jaw and I'm on the floor. I don't fight back. I never do.

"So you decided that you were jus' gonna take a 'lil trip," He slurs as he drives his foot into my side. "You decided that ya didn't need tah' tell me anythin'."

"I'm sorry, sir." I breathe. "It won't happen again."

He kicks me again, his boot hitting my arm where it rests protectively over my ribs. I grit my teeth and don't make a sound.

"You'd better be sorry, ya little bitch. You have so much tah' be sorry 'bout. S' your fault your mom is dead. S' your fault... All your fault." He glares down at me. I try not to meet his eyes.

"Get up! Why are ya on the ground?" He yells. I close my eyes and push myself to my feet, staying silent as each punch lands. In my head, a jumbled mantra starts up.

 _I know, I know it's my fault. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-_

* * *

I stumble to bed somewhere around four, leaving me two hours of sleep before I have to get up for school. I feel like one giant bruise, my body throbbing with each pulse of my heart. At least he left my face alone. One less thing to explain tomorrow.

* * *

 **Okay, so that was chapter four... I feel like a horrible author for dragging my character through all of this. Poor Logan.  
**

 **Anyways, we're gonna be following Logan and Dean through high school. Anything specific that you guys want to see? Events, conversations, badassery, ect? Leave if for me in a review!**

 **Speaking of reviews, LEAVE THEM FOR ME! They fuel me. I write faster and better. Seriously.**

 **Thanks for reading and don't forget to follow!**

 **-emma**


	5. Chocolate Milk

The next morning, I am understandably sluggish. My long sleeve henley covers what needs to be covered, but it sure as hell doesn't make the bruises disappear. Every twitch of my muscles is followed by a bone-deep ache.

I walk with Emily to the office of the elementary school and make sure that all of her paperwork is complete and everything is in order. The woman at the front desk sizes me up from under rectangular glasses.

"How old are you? Don't you have a parent or guardian to do this?" She questions.

"He's sick," I answer flatly. Then I kiss Emily on the top of her head and take off.

* * *

From outside, the high school appears to be just as depressing and pathetic as any other that I've been to. There are a couple of students huddled together in little groups across the dead lawn, trying to fend off the cold with fingerless gloves and scarves. They watch me as I park my bike and go inside, their voices following me up the steps and through the front doors. The inside of the school isn't any more pleasant than the outside. I examine the badly painted people on posters advertising spirit days and the faded banner proclaiming that "The Bears Will Win," which is ironic because the most recent league champs banner is from 1968.

The woman at the office looks like she desperately wants to be a barbie doll. Her cheeks and lips are too pink, her eyeshadow is too blue, her hair is too blonde, and her curls are too perfect. I clear my throat and watch as she looks up and her face splits into a smile that is way too wide to be real.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asks in a squeaky voice.

"Yeah, I'm a new student. My dad couldn't make it, so I'm checking myself in. The name's Logan Fraye," I answer, throwing her an easy smile. She nods and shuffles around in her desk for a few moments before pulling out a schedule.

"Here you go. Your first period is US History in room D4, and your locker number is 206. The combo is written right down there," she gestures to the bottom of the schedule. "If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask a student or a teacher."

* * *

The halls smells like burnt popcorn and disinfectant, which is even more pungent than it sounds. I drift from class to class, mentally taking note of names and faces. Leroy, one of the big-shot jocks,is my lab partner for physics. Amanda is the flannel-wearing, openly-gay, very curious girl who decided to flirt with me during trig. Joseph is the dark haired kid who sits next to me in English and always seems to have his nose in a book. And, of course, there's Dean, who has almost all of the same classes as me and seems to be taunting me with his concerned glances.

 _Why? Why does he care? No one else ever has. I don't need him to care. I don't want him to. I don't…_

And suddenly, it's lunchtime and Dean is standing in front of me, the expression on his face unreadable. I raise my eyebrows at him and he sets a carton of chocolate milk down in front of me. The white and brown packaging stands out against the red plastic of the table. I stare at it for a second and then look up at him.

"That's for you." He says, averting his eyes before turning and walking away. I track him across the cafeteria until he disappears into the mass of students crowding the room. Then I look back at the small parcel in front of me and almost laugh.

 _It's a peace offering._

And the milk tastes like Dean is apologizing for digging too deep too quickly. It tastes like he wants to start over. It tastes like he cares.

And maybe I do want that.

* * *

 **Hello everyone! Happy holidays. I know this was a short chapter, but I hope it was satisfying. I had fun writing it. Also, you should all listen to the full No Closer To Heaven album by The Wonder Years. It's really fantastic. (I must have listened to Palm Reader six times while writing this chapter.)**

 **Alright, so to answer some guest review questions-**

 **To Sunshine1984: I'm glad you're enjoying the story! And I also wish I wrote more, and more often...  
**

 **To Guest: Yes, Bobby, Sam, and Dean are hunters in this**

 **To Fangirl: Thank you! I'm glad you like it :)**

 **And last but not least, please don't forget to leave me reviews! They really do help me write. (Plus I love just hearing from readers.)**

 **Thanks!**

 **XOXO**

 **-emma**


	6. Notes

After I pick up Emily from school, I head to Bobby's shop. Dean comes out to meet us, the lanky kid from the diner trailing behind him. He and Emily eye each other for a moment before he waves.

"I'm Sam," he declares, "Wanna see my pet turtle?"

Emily nods enthusiastically and looks up at me, silently making sure it's alright. I nod, smiling as she and Sam take off across the gravel driveway. As the sound of their footsteps fade away, I look at Dean.

"Turtles, huh?" I ask, and Dean smiles at Sam's receding figure.

"I bought him one a few weeks ago. The little runt wouldn't stop askin' me."

"Yeah, Em does the same thing," I tell him. "So, what does Bobby want done?"

Dean leads me into the shop and sets me loose. Every once and awhile, Bobby looks checks up on me, smiling and nodding at my progress as I move from car to car. Dean works near me, his movements synchronizing with mine as we develop a rhythm. We don't speak, but we're still communicating. A glance here, a pointed finger there, a quiet chuckle as Dean drops a wrench on his foot. And that's it until five thirty, when Bobby informs me that I've done plenty and that I'm free to go home and he and Dean walk me outside. Sam and Emily come scampering back down the driveway, both sporting mad grins. I ruffle Emily's hair.

"Be back here after school tomorrow. You're doin' some fine work, kid." Bobby tells me with a twinkle in his eye. I smile slowly.

"Thanks, and I will, Sir."

"For Christ's sake, call me Bobby!" He chuckles. I nod happily. Dean looks at me and grins.

"You're the first one in a while to not get fired after one day, you know." He says earnestly.

"Well, thanks for not firing me," I laugh, looking back at my bike. "We should be heading home."

"See you at school tomorrow," Dean waves. Emily hugs Sam and then we're off.

When we get home, there's a note on the kitchen counter, hastily scrawled out in my dad's barely legible and slightly crooked handwriting.

 _Logan-_

 _I'm on a hunt. Be back in a few weeks._

 _-Nathan Fraye_

I raise my eyebrows at the wrinkled twenty that I find underneath the paper.

 _Thanks, that's really helpful._

The fact that he even bothered to leave a note (or money, for that matter) surprises me, but I don't question it. I just breathe out a relieved sigh and pull Emily into a hug.

"We've got the place to ourselves, kiddo."

"Can we play scrabble?" Emily asks me, and I grin.

"Finish your homework while I make dinner, and then you're on."

* * *

Three games of scrabble later, I tuck a tired out but very satisfied Emily into bed.

"I kicked your butt!" She tells me enthusiastically, and I laugh.

"You sure did. I must be getting rusty."

"You sure you didn't let me win?"

"Yep," I lie. "Going to school must be doing you a world of good."

She blinks up at me, and the adoration in her eyes makes warmth blossom deep within my chest.

"Goodnight, Em." I kiss her forehead.

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!" She replies.

"Okay, love. You too."

And then I turn off the light and find my way into the kitchen to clean up and do my homework.

* * *

The mystery of the burnt popcorn and disinfectant scented hallways continues to stump me. I wrinkle my nose and look at Dean, who is walking beside me and tapping the beat of some song on his leg.

"Zeppelin?" I ask.

"Of course." He replies. We walk the rest of the way to the class in silence and seat ourselves in the back. I sweep my hair away from my face and take last night's homework out of my backpack, ignoring the mildly surprised look from Dean.

"I didn't take you as the the homework type," he comments.

"I'm usually not."

* * *

At lunch, I find myself facing the overcrowded cafeteria once more, but this time with Dean at my side. We don't really talk, he just stays with me and I stay with him and we move in tandem, walking towards a table in the corner and disregarding the glances that other students throw our way. As we sit down, Dean pulls a brown paper bag out of his backpack and plops it down in front of himself before taking a smushed but good-looking sandwich and a juice box out it.

"Nice juice box." I tell him as I pull an apple out of my backpack and take a bite.

"Thanks. I figured it would be appropriate since most of the students here act like they're in preschool."

"You included."

"Exactly," he mumbles through a mouthful of food, waving his sandwich at me.

We don't say much more until lunch is over, except for when I laugh at a joke that Dean cracks about the way the principal's bright pink underwear peek out over her pants whenever she bends over. And then we walk through the reeking hallways once again.

* * *

Halfway through the last period of the day, Dean leans over and hands me a note. In small, even letters, he asks if I want to go with him and some friends to see Killing Onions perform tonight and tells me that Bobby would be happy to watch Emily for a few hours. I hesitate for a moment, my eyes scanning over the paper, but ultimately decide that going to a concert for a little while would be alright.

' _Sure_ ,' I write, looking at the paper and thinking about how we really are acting like preschoolers. I pass the note back to Dean.

* * *

 **Don't forget to review! I got a whole bunch of really helpful messages on the last chapter, and hope to get more on this one :)**

 **XOXO,**

 **Emma**


	7. Putting It All Together

I'm a bit flustered as I get ready for the concert. I change my jeans twice and riffle through my few shirts, hoping that something nice looking (and without stains on) will appear. When nothing does, I settle on a black tank top and a flannel. A quick glance in the mirror reveals the brown mop on top of my head and I groan.

 _Well, fuck._

After a few minutes of attempting to tame my hair into looking somewhat nice, I give up and head to the kitchen to get a drink of water. As I stand in front of the sink, I hear Emily approach behind me.

"Hey, love. Do have your toothbrush and PJ's? I'll be late picking you up." I inquire as I turn around, looking at the small purple suitcase she's trailing behind her. She nods and grins.

"Guess what?" She bubbles. I smile back at her and play along.

"What?"

"Sam said I could help him feed his turtle tonight."

"Sweet, Em!" It's not hard to return her enthusiasm. "You're gonna have loads of fun."

"Yeah. Sam is cool. Wanna know what else he says?"

"Sure."

"He says his big brother has a crush on you."

I choke on my water and Emily smirks up at me with wide eyes in a failed attempt to appear innocent. I flick her head and brush past her to grab my coat.

"I'm sure Sam is just kidding," I insist. "Grab your stuff, we're gonna be late."

Emily giggles and does what I ask, but her statement leaves me wondering as I lock up the house and start my bike.

 _Dean has a crush on me? Surely he can't. I mean… I'm just me. A hunter. A piece of shit, well-trained, redneck warrior. What could he possibly see in that?_

* * *

Bobby and Sam come out to meet us when we arrive and lead us back to the house. It's big and filled with all sorts of things- books, beer, furniture, powdery substances in jars, and boxes stacked up to the ceiling. I notice something that looks suspiciously like a devil's trap peeking out from under a mat in the living room, but I push it out of my mind.

 _Later. Ask him about it later. Just be normal, for once._

Twenty minutes later, Dean and I say our goodbyes and I ruffle Emily's hair. I throw Bobby a glance.

"Take good care of her," I tell him, the words almost holding a threat. He looks me in the eyes, and something in his brown irises comforts me. It's warm, safe, and reassuring. An unspoken 'she'll be fine', and a protective gleam that I barely recognize as… Fatherly. I blink and a slow smile slides onto my face. Then I follow Dean outside.

I can tell that Dean loves his car. The interior is ridiculously clean, save for a rust-colored mark on the back bench seat that I immediately identify as a blood stain. (Again, I avoid asking questions, though I can't help putting two and two together.) The black paint glitters and the chrome gleams. I nod my head, impressed.

"67', right?"

"Yeah. My dad gave her to me for my sixteenth."

"Sweet. She's a 'her'?"

"Oh hell yes. Does Baby look like a dude to you?"

"I suppose not. Nice to meet you, Baby." I tell the car. The remark draws a laugh from Dean, but the only reply from the car is a strange rattle from the heating vent.

* * *

Killing Onions can't really be classified as any one genre. If I had to, I'd describe them as punk/alternative/ska/metal/angry wordless screaming. It's definitely an interesting combination, but not nearly as horrible as you'd think. In fact, the three long-haired band members aren't half bad. After a little while, I find myself at the very front of the small crowd. I'm squashed between Dean and a mildly drunk blonde chick who seems to know all the words to all the songs. I feel Dean's hip bump against mine and I'm suddenly very aware of how close we are- I can smell the deep musky scent that practically clings to him, rich and earthy and green. Green like his eyes, which are staring very intently into mine, and when he asks if I want a drink I have to blink myself back into reality before nodding slowly. If my dad found out I was drinking…

 _He's not gonna find out. Stop worrying and have a good time._

So I follow Dean to the bar, and the bartender grins at Dean before shrugging his shoulder and handing us two bottles of beer. Dean sees my raised eyebrows and laughs.

"I fixed his car a while back. He's paying me in booze," he explains, and I shake my head.

"I'm assuming Bobby doesn't know."

"Nope, and I hope it stays that way," he tells me with a pointed look.

"Don't worry, I ain't no snitch," I chuckle, and Dean smiles.

"Good. Now that that's over with, let's play some pool."

And we do play pool. For hours. Dean downs another beer and laughs as I take my shot and win the game. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks flushed, and he's grinning like an idiot.

"Man, Logan, you're good at this. Where'd you learn?"

"My dad taught me, what about you?"

"Same here. It helps, when we're on a hun-" His eyes widen and his voice cuts off abruptly. "When we're on long road trips," he tries to cover his mistake, but it's too late. I almost burst into laughter.

"I knew it. You're a hunter, aren't you." I declare in a low voice, observing Dean's jaw as it tightens.

"What are you talking about?" The question is flat and obviously posed. I only raise my eyebrows in response, and he crumples.

"Yeah. I'm guessing you are too, by the looks of everything."

"Your guess is correct."

"Guess we're both dammed to hell."

"Yep. Cheers to that."

The clink of out bottles echos in my ears until Killing Onions strikes up another song and the sound fades.

* * *

Dean is drunk. Much more drunk than me. I roll my eyes and swat his hand away from my butt for the second time as he bumps against me. Finally, the Impala comes into view, the chrome gleaming under the streetlight. He fumbles for the keys and eventually hands them to me, after a few long glances between me and the car. As I start the engine, the radio begins to blare some woman's emotional, wailing voice and I grimace. I reach forward to change the station, but Dean's hand stops me. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"I kinda like tha' song." He blinks at me and I laugh.

"Well that's too bad, Ace. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

He blinks again, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles sloppily.

"'M gonna use that," he tells me, and I shake my head again and change the station. We don't really talk for the rest of the drive, except for Dean commenting on how _black_ the sky is and how _brown_ my hair is.

"'S brown like… Like… Trees. And tha' real pretty dirt right after it rains. Nice n' cozy brown. Like hot chocolate."

I just nod my head, an amused smile spreading across my face, and keep driving until Bobby's house comes into view. Dean climbs out of the car and stumbles out across the driveway and up the front porch, waiting for me as we reach the door.

"Thanks," he tells me. I tilt my head.

"For what?" I ask.

"For giving me a second chance. And for kicking my ass at pool. For being another hunter. And for driving me home."

"You're welcome. You done with the chick-flick moment?"

He blinks at me, and a grin slowly smiles across his face.

"Yeah, no more chick-flick moments."

"No more," I agree, and we walk inside.

Emily and Sam are crashed on the floor in the living room, limbs sprawled out over a nest of pillows and blankets. I pat Sam on the head and gently scoop Emily into my arms, where she continues to sleep. I thank Bobby and say goodbye to Dean before heading outside to where my bike is waiting.

* * *

 **Yay, chapter seven! Hope you guys liked it. Leave me some reviews, please. Give me the good, give me the bad, give me your suggestions, tips, and tricks! I love hearing from you.**

 **Question time!**

 **1) Do you think I'm portraying Sam, Dean, and Bobby accurately? If not, what should I fix?**

 **2) What to you like/dislike most about the story?**

 **Thanks, everyone! And if you are enjoying this fic, don't forget to follow/favorite!**

 **XOXO,  
**

 **Emma**


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